


The Queen's Host

by orphan_account



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Benvolio just wants to help, Degradation, Dirty Talk, F/M, I am so sorry, If anyone needs me to tag it as a major thing please tell me, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pain Kink, Poor Mercutio you guys, Queen Mab - Freeform, Self-Hatred, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tybalt is gross, Unhappy Ending, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The world was cruel to Mercutio's heart. That was why he stayed and slept with a man who didn't return his love, that's why he stayed and talked with a man who hated his guts, and that's why he stayed and used a man for his own selfish needs.





	The Queen's Host

**Author's Note:**

> So, just a heads up, everyone in this is magically 18 years of age. Alright? Alright. Cool. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Please comment what your thoughts are? Thank you.

Teeth. Tongue. Need. Heat. Mercutio bit down on his hand and tried not to moan aloud. He could feel Romeo's devious smirk against his skin, feel the other man bite harder, and all Mercutio could see was white. He grinded up against Romeo again, and again, and pushed, and shoved, and pretended there wasn't the faint simmering of shame in his stomach.

Mercutio's back arched off the bed, coming undone, held tightly in Romeo's arms until he rode his high. Then he laid there, panting, blinking a couple of times before turning his head towards Romeo, who has his signature lazy grin stuck on his face. Mercutio despised that grin, for it was the cause of his misery. The cause of his pounding heart and dry throat.

Eventually, Mercutio came to his senses, and pulled himself out of Romeo's arms and scavenged the floor for his hastily flung clothes. He hated how enthusiastic he got when Romeo offered. The words always made his head spin. They were sweet, dripping with syrupy tones, and they pulled Mercutio right in. Curse his ever beating heart. If he hadn't gotten so entangled with the man, he wouldn't have such problems.

"I'll be off now," Mercutio whispered into the silence, accompanied only by the pair's breathing. It was serene, in a way, and if Mercutio closed his eyes, he could pretend he wasn't required to leave. That he could stay, and Mercutio could run his fingers through Romeo's hair, and that he could be seen with the man in a more than platonic manor. He shook his head. It would not do well to dwell on such dream.

Turning to face Romeo, Mercutio took a deep breath. Romeo had sat up, his chest exposed to the meager moonlight shining through the window. He was breathtaking, the way his hair fell in his face and the bright red of his lips that were evident even from a distance away. Mercutio couldn't believe he was such a cliche idiot. Romeo broke the silence, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, friend."

Friend. That was right. A friend, that was all Mercutio was and ever would be. Mercutio approached the window and unlatched it, pulling it open. He turned, took a small glance at Romeo for one last time, before disappearing into the night's embrace.

* * *

Mercutio could feel the sting on his back, his heart pounding in his chest, and it was exhilarating. He could still feel the sharp sting where Romeo had bitten marks on his chest, the ache of his scalp where Romeo had yanked his hair. This was perfect, he could feel everything, every bit of skin slapping against his own, every pinch of skin, every red hot feeling that melted against him all at once and disarmed all his senses. He felt full, and he bounced, and smirked when he heard a moan slip from Romeo's mouth. Mercutio never wanted the moment to end.

But the wave of pleasure crashed down, and like all good things, Mercutio had to separate himself from it. So he picked himself up again and tried to ignore the sweat against his skin that made him feel gross, tried to ignore the empty feeling inside multiple places.

"So, do you plan on going to the Capulet ball still?"

Mercutio turned towards Romeo, an eyebrow raised. The man hardly ever initiated conversation after their activities. "Why, do you?"

"I thought it could be fun, tricking the Capulets like that. Maybe there will be some nice ladies there."

There it was. Mercutio resisted the urge to groan and rest his head against the wall. How that man managed to mend his heart and break it all in a matter of minutes was beyond him. Mercutio shrugged, as casually as he could muster, and replied, "So, we shall go to this ball then. How long has it been since you've danced anyways, Romeo? Do you even remember how?"

Mercutio revelled in the soft red that sprung up on Romeo's cheeks. "I haven't forgotten! That's not something a gentleman forgets! I took lessons, you were there."

"Because you are such a gentleman." Mercutio shook his head. "Yes, I was there for those lessons, and I distinctly remember a certain Montague heir tripping over his feet every five seconds."

Romeo crossed his arms. "I've improved."

"Well, we'll test that at the ball, shall we?" Mercutio strode over to the window once more. "Adieu, my friend."

"Wait!" Romeo called out, just before Mercutio could step into the night.

"What is it?" Mercutio couldn't help the tinge of annoyance in his voice. His heart ached and he wanted a pint of whiskey before he was needed somewhere.

"Well..." Romeo glanced down at the floor, and then back at Mercutio. He hesitated. The world seemed to slow down as they stared at each other, and Mercutio could swear Romeo saw right through him. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter now. Goodnight."

Mercutio blinked and turned away, looking out into the stars once again. He wondered if they had any names, or any answers to why the world seemed to set such a cruel punishment on his unyielding heart.

* * *

The world hadn't felt right that morning. Maybe the conversation with Romeo had been hanging over his head, or there was something more sinister creeping in the shadows of his mind. He had always been a fanciful child, and he had only learned to lock it away as he grew older. He learned to lock a lot of things away. That morning, he supposed, he had lost the keys.

So his hands were shaking and his lips were moving on their own, and he knew he spoke of nothing but it all felt so real. He felt frightened. It was haunting him, pounding at his skull. Unbearable. "And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades!"

Mercutio's mind felt foggy. What was that insistent knocking at his skull? He couldn't bear to think, and he could feel his stomach churning. He could feel the cold metal of his sword sheath pressed up against his leg. He caught a glimpse of Romeo's frightened face and it only doubled his hellish movements. "This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, that presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage!"

She was haunting him, coming after him, pushing him, holding him down, and the pounding wouldn't stop, and suddenly his sword was pressed up against his throat, and he couldn't breath. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop! "This is she!"

And suddenly, the sword was gone, the knocking was gone, and there was a heat pressed up against his back. He thrashed, and squirmed, and screamed, until the calming words of the person holding him reached his ears. Romeo. Romeo was holding him. He was okay. He was okay.

"Gentle Mercutio, you don't know what you speak of."

Mercutio took a deep breath, and then two, before he trusted himself to respond. "True. I speak of idle dreams. I apologize."

"The ball is soon, you two."

Mercutio looked up at Benvolio, who was holding Mercutio's sword in hand. His knuckles were bright white, and Mercutio could see the slight tremor running through his body. Benvolio stared at Mercutio with trepidation and concern. Mercutio fought the urge to bolt away. He stood up on shaky legs and moved to grab his sword away from his friend. Benvolio moved his hand away and looked disapprovingly at Mercutio. He couldn't help the pout that formed on his face.

Sighing, Mercutio turned and faced Romeo, who was staring off towards the sunset with a whimsical look in his eye. It was far too familiar. "Romeo, did you bring our masks?"

Romeo jolted, before nodding at Mercutio. He pulled out three masks, each the slightest bit different from the other. Mercutio pulled his over his head and positioned it onto his face. Details like that bored him. He wanted the night over with, so he could wander the streets of Verona searching his thoughts, or possibly once again between the silk sheets of his one-sided love. His life was dismal.

The ball was just as elegant as Mercutio had expected. Bright red tapestries adorned the walls, the people, dressed in various shades of red and orange to compliment, chatter and moving about. There was a beauty to it, and Mercutio felt out of place, that he clashed with the flow of it all instead of blending in. His bright red suit itched again his skin and reminded him of all the reasons he had found loyalty with the Montagues.

He found himself at the refreshments table, picking up a crystal glass and sipping at the wine inside. Mercutio turned and faced out towards the crowd, his eyes scanning for a familiar face. He found none, but laughed quietly at the sight of a girl awkwardly dancing around a man. He felt bad, but it was amusing nonetheless.

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see a familiar face staring at him.

"What are you doing all alone at a party like this?"

Tyablt. Fucking- Tybalt Capulet. Mercutio resisted the urge to sigh. He was standing face to face with one of the most irritating subjects in the history of Verona. "Drinking."

"Isn't the wine pleasant? I picked it out myself. 1776, Belarus, is what I believe that glass is filled with."

Mercutio nodded along, only barely not rolling his eyes. Insufferable. He stared at Tybalt, a frown forming on his face. Why wasn't the man making a scene about the prince's nephew appearing at a Capulet party? Suddenly, it clicked with Mercutio, and it took all his strength to not spit out his wine. He had his hair down. Fuck. Tybalt thought he was a girl.

"So, what is your name, fair lady?" That confirmed it.

Mercutio hesitated for a moment. Should he put on a charade? He glanced around once again, and, deciding he had nothing better to do, replied, "Mary."

"Well, Mary, shall I grab you another drink?" Tybalt gestured to Mercutio's empty glass. Mercutio blinked at it a few times before nodding, and handing the glass over. When had he finished it? He couldn't remember. He shrugged it off, chalking it up to trying to distract himself from Tybalt's boring chatter.

"So, considering I haven't seen you here before, where are you from?" Tybalt approached again, two glasses of wine in hand.

"Uh, Wales."

"Wales? Isn't that... Quite far away?"

"Yes, I recently moved."

"Ah, I see. How are you liking Verona?"

"It is... Unique."

"How so?"

"There are interesting people here." Mercutio was a curious bastard and damn if he wasn't going to use his opportunity.

"Like whom?"

"That one man... What was his name? Merca- Mercutio."

"Oh." Mercutio desperately tried not to laugh at the disappointment in Tybalt's tone. "Yes, well, he's the Prince's nephew. He's eccentric and moody, along with his friend, Romeo. It's best to stay away from them, dear."

"Why so?"

"They're Montagues."

"Yes, well..." Mercutio drifted off as he caught sight of someone behind Tybalt. Romeo. He was... Mercutio stumbled backwards a bit. A girl. A very pretty girl, and he was kissing her with every bit of passion he had. More passion than he had ever given Mercutio.

"Is that... Romeo Montague?" Tybalt's voice had grown hard. Mercutio needed to get out of there.

"Excuse me," He said, stepping backwards once more, before turning around to dash off before the tears started. Instead, a hand wrapped around his arm, and he was snapped back, into the grasp of Tybalt.

"Where are you going?"

Mercutio stared at Tybalt, eyes wide. The man looked far more menacing than he ever had before, a predatory look scraping across Mercutio's face. Fright filled him once again that night, for a different reason. He struggled against the grasp on his arm, but Tybalt held firm. "It is so early in the evening. Please, stay."

Mercutio couldn't help the tear that slipped out. Romeo... He sniffed, and tried to blink away the rest. He was a pansy, he knew that, but he didn't want to cry in public. He couldn't. He twisted his arm again. "Please... Just, let me go."

"I do insist we continue our conversation."

"I have business to, uh, attend to..." Mercutio could feel his heart beating faster.

"This late in the evening? I doubt it." Tybalt leaned closer into Mercutio, close enough for him to feel Tybalt's breath on his neck, and shame seeped through his veins. He made a mistake. Each breath made him feel more and more disgusting. "Why do you insist on running away? I only want a little time with you, darling."

Mercutio could feel the tears building again. He was trapped, trapped beneath this man, and he couldn't move. His hands were shaking and the world was starting to spin. Get him out, get him out! He was disgusting-

Then the grip on his arm was gone, and Mercutio bolted, running away from the hell behind him, running away from Tybalt and Romeo. Running towards the fountain. He collapsed on the ground in front of it, his forehead leaning against the cool marble of the outer edge. And then he started sobbing. Full body sobs, his body convulsing, and he couldn't hold back the tears. Why did this always happen to him?! Why him?!

The world stopped spinning after a few minutes, and Mercutio could finally breath. He took deep breaths, counted to ten, and lifted his head off of the fountain. Staring at the water took off his edge. He stared at his distorted reflection, and couldn't help but think about how accurate it was. Distorted. Disgusting. He was too damaged.

Footsteps on the gravel behind him snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Benvolio standing there, a sorrowful look on his face. It made Mercutio want to laugh. So he did. It was a delirious kind of laugh that dripped with a stringy complexion, the kind that made you shiver and want to cry. He wanted to cry again, too. He didn't know if he had enough tears for that.

Benvolio moved down beside him and they sat together, the too kind friend and the boy crazy enough for an insane asylum. The only reason he wasn't in one was because of his royal blood. He scrapped at the pebbles below him, enjoying the hissing sound of the water in front of him. He could really go for a drink.

"I brought whiskey and vodka, if you'd like any?"

Ah, Benvolio. Mercutio didn't know if he'd be alive without that man. He gladly accepted the vodka and downed half the bottle in one go. He could afford to get drunk that night. His thoughts needed to drown anyways.

* * *

"Go then, for, 'tis in vain?"

Mercutio stared at Benvolio, stared until his eyes hurt, and his lungs hurt, before he finally nodded. Romeo was gone, and he... Well, what good would it do for Mercutio to dwell on that idiot. He kissed another girl, so, so, he wouldn't care about Mercutio anymore. He was alone, so, a night with Benvolio wouldn't hurt.

As soon as Mercutio's back hit the bed, he knew Benvolio was the type to go soft. It was the way his hands drifted across Mercutio's back, not scrapped. The way he kissed Mercutio's collarbone instead of bitting it. The way their bodies molded together, too perfect and two straight forward. Mercutio needed someone to hate him. A dark part of him edged him on. He knew, this was fucked up, but he was beyond the point of caring. "Hey... Benvolio...? Can you, I don't know, maybe be a bit more degrading?"

Benvolio stopped his movements to look at Mercutio. His eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... Call me a slut. Slap me. Tell me you hate me."

Mercutio expected Benvolio's reaction. Wide eyes, and an immediate no. Mercutio pouted, and draped himself onto Benvolio's torso. The man was rather toned, which Mercutio was pleasently surprised to find out. "Please? I really really need you to do this. Please. Pull my hair. Tell me I'm a whore, tell me I only do these things because I'm disgusting, please, I need you to."

Benvolio continued to stare at Mercutio, who looked at him innocently. Honestly, he wanted someone to punch him, and to make him bleed, but some hurtful words would do just fine. He could see Benvolio starting to agree to do it, and he smirked, gripping at Benvolio's dick as he moved closer.

"You little slut." Mercutio couldn't help the small moan that escaped from his mouth.

Mercutio rutted against Benvolio's leg, twisting around his dick scratched against the rough material of his pants. He panted and groaned, moving his hands to Benvolio's hair to grip. Benvolio chuckled. "Can't control yourself, can you? Desperate whore."

And Mercutio whimpered and whined again, and the cycle started again and again until they had both gotten off multiple times. Mercutio could feel his dick burning, and he revelled in the feeling. He moved up against Benvolio and stayed there, content. He was able to stay there, unlike when he slept with Romeo...

Romeo. Mercutio shuddered, and the events of the night came flooding back to him. Romeo. The kiss. Tybalt. Disgusting. Crying. Alcohol. Mercutio's head buzzed and he pulled himself out of the bed and onto the floor, before promptly emptying his stomach of all the alcohol. The tears came back, and he vaguely felt a hand on his back. Benvolio. He had asked him to do all that nasty stuff. Mercutio felt the shame rise once again. He really was disgusting, and pathetic, and gross. The world wasn't being cruel if he deserved it.

* * *

So when he was face to face with Tybalt, swords drawn, Mercutio knew he deserved what was coming. He could still feel the breath on his neck, could still feel the way Tybalt's hand gripped his arm. He couldn't get the feeling off, no matter how much he had scrubbed, no matter how much he had cried. It was still there, and it would be there until he died. "Good king of cats, nothing more than one of your nine lives?"

Tybalt smirked. Mercutio hated that smirk, that god awful skin crawling smirk that reminded him of creatures dancing in the dark and pricks of needles on his skin. Mercutio could firmly say he hated Tybalt, hated the ground he walked on, and just wanted it all to be over with.

The clash of swords was a familiar sound, and it sucked Mercutio in, allowing him to fight without worrying about what the men behind him were thinking. Clash. Clash. Clash. He smirked in the face of death. He hadn't been afraid of it in a long time.

The gush of blood from Tybalt's wound was satisfying. It was like watching the wine Tybalt had shoved into his hand poor out onto the ground instead of going down his throat. He turned around to face Romeo, who looked both proud and disappointed. It made Mercutio laugh. It was such a Romeo expression. Mercutio walked forward and embraced his friend, aware of the standing Tybalt behind him.

Pain. Exhaustion. Pain. Heat. Mercutio gripped at the wound, stumbling towards Tybalt. He mumbled a few words, too focused on the ringing in his ears and the dizziness in his head. The pounding was back. Who kept doing that? He watched as Tybalt ran away. He felt like he needed to do something, but he couldn't remember what.

"Mercutio-"

"Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch." Mercutio stumbled to the side and fell onto his knees, gripping tightly at his side to keep the blood in. He was dying. Death. So maybe he lied about not being afraid at all.

Romeo moved up next to him, and Mercutio moved a hand from his wound to cup his cheek. "I was hurt under your arm... Romeo, please... I..."

Mercutio slid his hand off Romeo's face and slumped forward, letting out a gasp as a new wave of pain wracked through him. He could feel himself being lifted up. No. No. He had to tell Romeo, he had to tell him, he needed to know... The unfairness of it all suddenly reached Mercutio. Anger bubbled in his stomach, like a witch's potion, and be began to scream, and scream, even when he could feel his eyes drifting shut. Tybalt and Romeo had cursed him, they ruined him, it was their fault he was so disgusting. It was... their...

"A plague on both of your houses! A plague!"

* * *

 

Benvolio stumbled towards Romeo, the rims of his eyes dark red, like the blood that still laid spilt on the ground before him. It was his fault, wasn't it?

"Gentle Mercutio is dead."


End file.
